


Reunion

by ElaneTheTired



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Amir - Freeform, Ben's family is dead, Canon Compliant, Ciridae, Future Fic, It's Not Really Important, Kvothe and Ben are reunited, Kvothe is powerfull, The Chandrian - Freeform, but not happy, i think, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElaneTheTired/pseuds/ElaneTheTired
Summary: After Abenthy's family died in the plague that consumed Halowfell, he didn't really expect to do much with the rest of his life, content to wonder the roads and console himself with memories of old times. Fate however, had other plans in store for him. His chance encounter with another of the Cahndrian's acts of brutality will leave him at the mercy of other, equally mythical factions, and a powerful and mysterious master, whose hood hides a greatly changed, yet so familiar face.
Relationships: Abenthy | Ben (Kingkiller Chronicles) & Kvothe
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Fairytales Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is just a vague idea I had, and needed to write to get it out of my system. I kinda want to continue this, but I don't really know how. Comments with ideas, criticism and just anything to indicate this fandom isn't dead welcome.
> 
> Enjoy!

Abenthy almost fell asleep listening to the monotonous sound of the judge’s voice. It reminded him of the way his father used to speak when telling Ben stories before bed. The thought almost made him start giggling hysterically, but that really wouldn’t do, so he suppressed the urge at the last moment. 

He was really tired, the cold stone floor of the dungeon wasn’t exactly a comfortable bed. Ben knew it wasn’t the reason sleep eluded him though. Even had his jailers given him all the accommodations he could have dreamed of, he knew he could not have banished the images he kept seeing in his mind’s eye: Twilight sky lit blue by raging fire. Twisted, bloody bodies of men and women he didn’t know. Eyes, blacker than the night sky.

Ben didn’t know how much time had passed since that day. He thought it had been a week, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He had spent most of that time underground, chained and locked behind heavy iron bars, trying desperately to both fall asleep and wake up from this nightmare.

Lost in thought, Ben had missed some of the judges speech. Not that it mattered really. He had understood quite quickly that in this trial the accused had no say at all. The judge was not even speaking to him. His words were addressed to the crowd of white robed figures sitting in the arena around him. The robes gleamed in the yellow light of the sympathy lamps, as if they were lit from inside. Ben would have said that they looked like angels, if not for the blank expressions on their faces. They were men and women from all around the world. Vintas, Modeg, Yll, Atur, even Admere, all had representation in the jury discussing the worth of his life. 

Sometimes, one of the people would stand and ask a question or make a remark, voice as dispassionate and emotionless as their face. The judge would respond or nod in acknowledgment, and the trial would proceed. Those exchanges spooked Ben especially, as they would often be spoken in languages that, to his surprise, he not only didn’t know, but has also never heard of. 

His chains made a soft jingling sound as he shifted his weight nervously. Unable to look at the jury and the judge any longer, he focused his attention on what had been demanding it since the moment he was escorted into the courtroom. On a heightened daise behind the judge, stood seven unnaturally still silhouettes. Their robes were different from the others’. Deep cowls hid their faces in shadow, despite the bright light that seemed to shine right at them, and their sleeveless tops exposed the mesmerizing pattern of blood-red tattoos snaking around their arms.

_ Ciridae. _ The thought sent a shiver down Ben’s spine. He never thought that they were real. The Ciridae, the Amyr, the Chandrian, all of them. Oh, he had suspected there was something more to the folktales than pure imagination and superstition. But he had never actually believed… Well, no point wandering about it now, is there?

“In conclusion,” the judge intoned, snapping Ben back into reality. Every muscle in his body tensed up at once. He had a really bad feeling about this… 

“Abenthy son of Daylen” the judge said.  _ How did they find out my father's name?  _ Abenthy wandered in passing. “You have witnessed events that are not meant for the eyes and ears of mortal men. Your knowledge of these events might interfere with the plans and long term operations of the Amyr, the Sith and all those who wish to preserve and nourish the light and peace in all realms where the moon shines its merciful light. As such, with heavy hearts, we condemn you to painless death by decapitation. May Tehlu and his angels spare your soul.” 

Heavy silence settled over the room. Abenthy’s heart sank. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. That they would be merciful, like in children’s stories? That they would let him go with a harsh warning to keep his mouth shut? That they would possess some eldritch magic that would allow them to erase his memory and set him free of this whole ordeal? He should have known better.

Abenthy closed his eyes. He was so tired. Let them take his worthless life if they wanted to, it’s not like he had done much with it anyway. Maybe if he got to heaven he would meet his wife and parents again…

“Has anyone any objections to this course of action?” For a second that seemed like an eternity, silence settled in the room once more. 

“I do.” A deep, pleasant baritone rang through the room, jolting Abenthy awake, and making surprise flicker on the previously impassive faces around him. It made a sharp contrast with everything - as alive as all the other voices had seemed dead, and as casual as everything else seemed formal and pompous. It tickled something in Ben’s memory, but he was too busy staring in front of him to notice.

For the first time since the trial began, one of the Ciridae had moved. He now stood one step in front of the others, and even with a cowl hiding his features Ben could feel his stare, like a heavy weight that settled on him. Ben wondered how he hadn’t felt the power radiating off the man before. It was almost palpable. He could swear that it made the air around the daise shimmer, like from extreme heat.

Ben didn’t notice how all the Amyr - including the judge - rose to their feet and bowed respectfully to the looming figure. One of the guards standing behind Ben gave him a shove that sent him to his knees, producing the semblance of a bow. Abenthy felt the weight of the Ciridae’s gaze lift only to return a moment later, but not before the guard behind him yelped in what could have been pain or surprise. 

“Do speak, honoured Ciridae.” the judge said, some emotion finally finding its way into his voice. ”What have you to say on behalf of this mortal?” 

“I have reasons to believe that this man will be useful to our cause.” the Ciridae replied calmly. 

”May I ask what these would be, wiser one?” 

“This man is an arcanist, and a good one at that. It would be a shame to waste his life when I could have use for such a capable assistant.”

“Do you deem this man trustworthy enough to join our ranks, wiser one? ”

“I do. And no, you may not know the reason for this particular decision.” That last sentence contained a veiled edge of steel that made everyone in the room shiver and the judge hastily bob his head in consent.

Ben stared, stunned. This was even more sureal than all of the stupid dreams he had berated himself for having earlier. One of the  **Ciridae** , praising his skill as an arcanist, saying he would be useful as a minion?! That made no sense at all. But Ben would take it, if all of this wasn’t some part of a grand joke.

The judge cleared his throat. “Abenthy, son of Daylen” he intoned again, though this time, Abenthy could hear nervousness in his voice. “One of the Ciridae has greatly honored you with the offer to become one of his followers, bypassing the arduous training and, um” the judge stumbled, obviously inventing the speech on the fly, “ meticulous selection normally required to join our organization. Will you accept his generous offer, and swear yourself to his service? ”

He didn’t want to. The Amyr had shown themselves to be very different from the mysterious heroes the stories made them out to be, and swearing himself to the service of an unfamiliar man, let alone a Ciridae, was not very appealing. But there was something in the Ciridae’s voice, something in its humanity and liveliness that made Ben want to find out more. Something in his power that tantalized, and awakened the thirst for knowledge the old arcanist thought he had lost somewhere along the way. Something that awakened old, half forgotten memories of dusty books and the rattling of wagon wheels...

"Yes". The word came out raspy, and it startled Abenthy more than anyone else, as he had not meant to speak.

"Well chosen." The judge said, seeming to return to his former calm. He swept the room with his eyes once again. "Has anyone any objections?"

No one responded this time. Some of the Amyr even shook their heads vigorously. 

"Very well" the judge said, relieved. "This case is officially considered closed. Wiser one?" He turned questioningly to the whiterobed man. "Will you perform the ceremony?"

The hooded man didn't answer. Instead he leapt from the dais, over the judge's table, and landed in a crouch in front of the still kneeling Ben, all in one graceful motion. He offered his hand to Abenthy.

Ben was tired of being surprised, and he didn’t really have any other choice now, so he clasped the proffered hand. It had long, nimble fingers, but the skin was surprisingly calloused, like that of a smith or a warrior. The Ciridae rose to his feet, pulling Ben with him. He held both of Abenthy’s shoulders, hood now directly in front of his face. Aenthy could feel the power all around him, swirling and shifting like storm clouds. That heavy gaze was almost too much to bare, even though Abenthy still couldn’t make out the man’s features beneath the cowl’s unpenetrable shadow.

Silence settled over the room once more. It had a feeling of finality to it, a width and capacity that the others lacked. It was the silence of people waiting to see magic, a miracle. It was the silence of people waiting for a storm. And the storm came.

“ **_Abenthy_ ** ” the name seemed to grow, expand, spreading in waves around the room, making the air itself vibrate, only to bounce off the walls and return to its master, culminating on the two still figures.

He was lightheaded. He thought that his knees had buckled, but wasn’t sure of it. The Ciridae’s arms held him steady. The Ciridae was the only thing that existed in Ben’s world right then. His arms, his voice, his unwavering gaze. His complete control over Ben’s very being. 

“Do you swear to serve me to the best of your ability, faithfully and without deceit, cause me or mine no harm, and abide by my command as if it were law, until death takes one of us?” 

To his surprise, Ben didn’t feel any compulsion. The man in front of him had infinite power over him. He knew his  _ Name _ , for Tehlu’s sake. And yet he was allowing Abenthy real choice over his own fate. His respect for the Ciridae rose up a notch.

“I do.”

And the world went black.


	2. Memories, Old and New

When he woke up again, Ben was laying on something soft. He was warm and well rested for the first time in a while. He sat up and looked around. He was in a fairly small room, bare stone walls, stone floors and no windows. There were two beds in the room, the one Ben had been sleeping on, and another near the opposite wall. When Ben tried to sit on it the mattress turned out to be as hard as the floors. At the foot of that bed stood a small, dark chest. With some surprise, Ben noted the distinct smell of roah wood. It had two locks, one copper and one iron, but something made the old arcanist suspect that there was more than that guarding the chest's contents from intruders. 

The only other furniture in the room was a small table and a bookshelf on the far wall. There were only two items on the table: a fancy wooden lutecase and a sword. The sword was long and slim, and even sheathed it gave off an aura of deadliness. It had an unremarkable black-leather scabbard. Ben could not fathom what use a namer would have for it.

The lute was more interesting. It seemed out of place in the monkish utilitarianism of the room. Ben approached and reverently ran his hand over the smooth curves of the wood. It was a good instrument, and evidently well cared for. 

It also made Ben wander as to the nature of his new master, for he was sure this was the Ciridae’s room. He had felt the man’s power, had seen with what respect, almost holy fear the other Amyr treated him, and yet he chose to live in a small bare room with barely anything in it. What kind of man would that be? What kind of man would have the power to topple mountains and nations at the tips of his fingers, and yet choose to spend his time caring for a musical instrument, and saving old, foolish arcanists from certain death? Why would he bother with a sword when he could take or grant lives with a word?

After a while, as there was nothing better to do, Abenthy moved to inspect the bookshelf. He very quickly determined that these were no simple books. He had heard the titles of some of them, but hadn’t been able to find them, even in the archives. Others were in languages he didn’t know. Some had gold and gems covering their spines, and some were just ancient scrolls that seemed like they would fall apart from the lightest touch. But there was one book that drew his attention. It didn’t seem to belong on that shelf. It was old and well worn from use, but not ancient. It had a simple leather cover that read: “Rhetoric and Logic” in half erased letters. 

A small bell began ringing in Ben’s mind. Things he had noticed earlier but did not have time to process were now rising to the surface of his consciousness, clicking together to make the beginnings of a blurred picture. His intuition reared its head and asked in a lazy, mocking manner:  _ you know what this is, don’t you? _

_ Can’t be,  _ Ben thought, shaking his head to banish the suspicions buzzing around in his brain. But his curiosity overtook him. Carefully, he reached the shelf and took out the old book. With trepidation, he opened it on the first page. He didn’t know for himself what he was praying to see, but as he stared at the page in disbelief his intuition gave out an ugly giggle and went back to sleep.

_ Kvothe,  _

_ Defend yourself well at the University. Make me proud. Remember your father’s song. Be wary of folly. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Abenthy. _

“The book is a dead giveaway, isn’t it?” asked a familiar baritone from the door.


End file.
